The Boxer

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises

All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station
Running scared

Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places
Only they would know

Lie-la-lie...

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers
Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue

I do declare
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there
Lie-la-lie...

Lie-la-lie...

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Leading me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down

And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains, mhm, hmm

Lie-la-lie...